When ageing, world-weary men start remembering their favourite nursery rhymes, something is clearly wrong.
John Le Carre understood that perfectly well when writing what would go on to be the definitive espionage novel centring on the Cold War and the conundrums that it involved for an unwieldy Britain caught between the twin superpowers. And so, instead of having an intelligence superior who handed out brisk orders and commands for a dangerous mission, he had Control, the decadent, wizened yet still prophetic head of British intelligence, christen the men under him, each suspected of being a deep-rooted mole in the Circus, with the silly names of people in his favourite limerick.
Thus was born 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy', a beautifully crafted, elegiacally brooding and brilliantly suspenseful spy novel that relies on the most immaculate of plot devices: information. Fans of Ian Fleming and the like can fume at the fact that, for about the whole of this elaborately dense narrative puzzle, Le Carre's cloaked spies do little more than talk, remember, talk again and come to shattering conclusions. The typically intense yet markedly unglamorous storyteller has brought in his own share of thrills and spills but 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' is a wholly different beast of a book, a dazzling blend of layer and layer of vital information, organic memory and inconvenient truths.
That does not mean, however, that it is not even a bit exciting. The writer plays all his trademark strokes here with startling finesse; the book's twists and turns hinge brilliantly on his meticulously orchestrated reveals while it also boasts of a series of quietly devastating sequences that squeeze tension out of the most cramped places. And each of the creations, as well as the very real buzz of the proceedings, lending it an air of a corporate office with its own politics, keep the reader riveted till the end.
It is a tall order to make an adaptation that captures all of this brilliantly and credit should go to Tomas Alfredson, along with his writers Bridget O'Connor and Peter Straughan, to get so much of the gist of the source right. There are hardly any major deviations in the basic outline to begin with. George Smiley is asked to step out of retirement to investigate a theory, nursed by a deceased Control, that the Circus was indeed infiltrated by a high-level informant trained by Russia. If you expect that the whole thing sounds dashing, something on the scale of an agent ready again to fire bullets and have a Martini, well you are mistaken since both the book and the film see Smiley on the periphery with his watchful eyes, unravelling slowly an intricate game of subterfuge that has imposing shadows over past secrets and present suspicions.
The choice of casting Gary Oldman as Smiley was originally questioned by a few (Le Carre had once stated that the character was created with Sir Alec Guiness in mind and so it had been him in the TV series). But all doubts go out of the window, once someone will witness how devastatingly brilliant his performance, in all its subtlety and empathetically cold-blooded intelligence, actually is. I actually hailed Oldman's stellar turn as the finest performance of 2011 even as Jean Dujardin grabbed all the praise the same year and regarding what the fine English actor has done all these years in roles ranging from intriguing characters in mainstream films to compelling screen villains of all shades, it should be have been a clinch. A few could complain that he looks like a leaner, meaner version of what was typically a stocky, palpably decadent veteran agent that was once played on the screen by Denholm Elliott. But whatever comes to the film adaptation is simply unforgettable.
As to further let Oldman sink into the quintessential Smiley essence, one of stoic indifference yet razor-sharp intuition, Alfredson also hand over the meatiest moments of the narrative to him. Even when he is listening silently to the others recount their pieces of the central jigsaw puzzle, the film seethes with a palpable electric energy. As the film progresses, we see more of Smiley talk and open up, reveal all his dark demons and also evolve into the film's unlikely hero, a crusader of the truth in a basket full of rotten eggs. It is at this juncture that 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' takes a bit of liberty from Le Carre's original plan for his character. In any of the Smiley novels, the man is rarely a hero worthy of redemption, a man who was even a bit responsible for upsetting the apple cart in 'The Spy Who Came In From The Cold' but the film humanises him to a further extent and with poignant effect. We see Smiley as one belonging from an older tradition, clearly a product of Control's legacy, who also wishes to defend that tradition to his deathbed. He is here pitted against the men ruling the roost in the new age and it is this implicit clash between the old and the new that also defines the rare emotional crux of the novel as well.
Straughan and O'Connor also play and tweak around with the original template of the book to give it a more linear flow which is a reasonable gambit to let Le Carre virgins a fairly balanced introduction to his archetype world of spies, where information is the choice of weapon and the casualties are disillusionment, disgrace and, inevitably, anonymity. In the book, the plot begins with Ricki Tarr's account of his misadventure in Hong Kong that contains a lethal secret and then we see Smiley, aided by Peter Guilam, diving right away into the intricate maze of clues of the mystery. The book also begins to draw up a parallel between the ongoing investigation and the lives and relationships of the characters caught in the fray, Guilam's melancholic brooding over the changing times, Smiley's wry remembering of a time now gone and the sparks between the new lineup at Circus after Control's death. The adapted script streamlines these elements, obliterates almost the whole of the subplot involving Jim Prideaux (a terrific Mark Strong) and geeky schoolboy Bill and turns Guilam into a slick, spiffy-looking agent secretly nursing a possible homosexual relationship and played by Benedict Cumberbatch. Homosexuality, too, is brought up more than once in the film in implicit ways, the way how Prideaux and Bill Haydon stare longingly at each other in the gala parties depicted in the film.
To give credit where it is due, 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' functions as a superbly well-oiled adaptation that leaves quite a lot of Le Carre's elements even with things that get trimmed considerably. The choice of altered locations-Czechoslovakia transplanted to misty Budapest and Hong Kong replaced by sleazy Istanbul-feels inspired as well and the film is stunningly shot, with lensman Hoyte Van Hoytema's splendid long-takes and textured landscapes capturing both a globe-trotting feel and a bureaucratic, authentically grimy mechanics of a workplace seething with unseen rivalries. The plot motors along with a solid confidence, setting up an intriguing mystery and building up a solid background before we finally see Smiley and the others do their bit, exchanging bits and pieces of conversations and flashbacks that all come together to tie up the strands in a most satisfying way. What is also notable is that the film does feel like a profoundly moral tale, a tale of a victory of honesty over dishonesty and the climax, even as it is tinged with sadness, is nevertheless celebratory. To be honest, however, the film's mesmeric, almost leisurely yet glacial pace is like a deliberate concession to the markedly gritty and introspective essence of the original and that itself is one of the few decisions that don't seem quite perfect. Say whatever you want to about Le Carre's attention on character and milieu over action and plotting but his book, even today, feels effortlessly thrilling.
A few other niggles in Alfredson's version include reducing almost the whole of the supporting cast of people in the Circus to simply plot-points and little else. We see preciously little of the age-old conflict of opinion between Percy Alleline and Control, though the film takes care to keep Control's distaste of Americans intact. We also don't quite get a glimpse into the lives and secrets of each of these men, whereas in the book Le Carre made sure to flesh out even Roy Bland and Toby Esterhase with skill to make them credible creations under the radar of Smiley's suspicions. Also, Connie Sachs' palpable enthusiasm with getting her hands on Polyakov is brushed aside here conveniently, turning her from a wizened old mother hen obsessed morbidly with her prey into a woman who is too smart for her own benefit. One of the best qualities of the book is Le Carre's ultimate mastery of perspective; the point of view changes dynamically from character to character and helps to give a well-rounded, almost organically dimensional insight into each plot proceeding. In the film, however, the perspective is Smiley's alone and we follow only him, which is fine but we also never quite know how other characters are dabbling with the central mystery and what it entails.
Nevertheless, what should be said is how well the film version of 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' brings out the core of emotions which were somewhat concealed beneath the labyrinthine plotting in the book. Along with Smiley, Ricki Tarr emerges as a surprisingly tender and vulnerable character in Alfredson's take, embodied superbly by Tom Hardy's heartfelt and beautifully underplayed performance. Also, his dalliance with Irina is also infused with more romance than evident in the source. Instead of playing as a lonely, beleaguered wife with a tell-tale heart as in the novel, Irina here has the essence of a femme fatale from a noir classic. These decisions and even marginal enhancements make 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' such a worthy adaptation of what should be called as a landmark moment in the spy novel genre.
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